A True Story

An odd thing happened on my way to work this morning. An overcast morning. I intentionally took an alternate route. I made my turn, heading north, off the main artery of a downtown street. The odd occurrence happened as I pulled behind cars waiting at the red light where I noticed a woman slowly, very slowly crossing the street.

The moment seemed to go on forever. Cars in the south-bound lanes had the green, our side was still red, cars in the left turn lane were making their turn. We had, at that moment, a red light and the woman stopped, seemed occupied, distracted by the movement of the traffic.
She just watched it all the while standing in the middle of the crosswalk. She seemed distantly familiar to me yet I’d never seen her before today, perhaps I never really noticed. She was pretty unremarkable looking, a bit elderly and I thought that might account for her apparent
confusion.

She had a paper cup of take-out coffee balancing in her left hand. She was wearing gloves, white gloves, the kind worn in the garden or painting a wall, a beige hat covering not enough of her tightly curled hair which was the color of damp concrete. Her face was well weathered, seasoned umber, textured as finely trimmed crape. A
plaid, earth-colored flannel, long sleeve shirt, bloused. The oversized men’s slacks, dingy white, and her feet, too small in untied athletic shoes, all gave her gait an exaggerated plodding appearance, each carefully calculated step measured with considered effort.

Her vestments, her torpidity, the traffic, a staged setting, created for the moment by some hidden director, a scene which slowly unfolded before me, before us all.

Our light then turned green, and I was, at once, in an instant, removed from the moment and found my heart racing to her, needing to embrace her, hide her from the danger of thousands of pounds of horsepower and the rush hour commuters in their rolling weaponry.

But I was completely surprised, no one, and I do mean no one, moved. For a million lifetimes and within the space of a heartbeat, we were all frozen. We were fixed upon her frailty and confusion, locked for a flash of an instant where everything turned motionless. We became entwined, caught up in the staging of this incredulous scene.

My lady of the crosswalk, surveying her domain, with Vassals, Knights, Servants, Lords, Ladies, all, in silent obeisance to her slowly measured majesty. The intersection became a Holy and Sacred space of absolution, mercy and forgiveness and a quiet peace ensued. With the scenery and players set, The Director called ‘action.’ And with a mystical wave of somehidden hand, we all began to move.

First, my Lady, with each, slow, step who was followed more closely than paparazzi following royalty. With each step, she would glance at her feet, then to the cars. With each step, our eyes darted from car to car and back to her frail figure, glances from the cars to her feet, all of us guarding her with our eyes and silent pleas for her safety. And as she passed, it was as if we were seeing ourselves, stuck out there, helpless. For one brief moment in time, we saw divinity, embodied in each other’s countenances, movements, actions, beholding grace as if
heaven sent.

As she weaved her way through the frozen traffic to the sidewalk, we, in our cars, sat stunned, with faces gently softened, souls lightly lifted, hearts strangely warmed.

Our world is growing harsher and more brutal each hour, yet today I found hope to believe we can change it, if only one moment at a time; moments, which when strung as pearls, could last a lifetime.

The Intersection - a story